*Tallon*
Fifteen years later
If there was one place you never wanted to spend your thirty-third birthday, it was inside a local bar at midnight drinking a cold beer in a virtually empty city, especially since said bar was the most sketchy-looking place in all of Tuscany.
But here I was, sitting on the stool at the bar and not even daring to put my hands on the filthy counter, as the bartender stared me and my companion down with a sour look as if we were ruining his night, which we might have since the last call was two hours ago.
But did said companion care?
“Happy birthday to you!”
Not in the slightest.
I winced at his obnoxious and overenthusiastic man in his thirties currently wailing the song in my ear, his arm hooked over my shoulder as he swayed us back and forth on the stools with a stupid sappy grin on his face.
I hated it when he got drunk.
